Rolling Stone
by triggersaurus
Summary: Doug/other character - somewhere in Nebraska, a family tree project leads to questions
1. Default Chapter

Title:

**Title:** Rolling Stone   
**Author:** Triggersaurus  
**Rating:** I used bad languagewell I was writing teenage boys, I couldn't escape it!  
**Spoilers:** Such Sweet Sorrow  
**Genre:** Series: Other/Doug  
**Summary:** Handing in his project, with a family tree that was more gaps than family, felt good despite it all. That was one load off his back. But while the project was done, the niggling questions about his father remained in his mind. He'd spent far too much time and money on surfing the net trying to find out all he could about this man he'd never known.  
**Disclaimer: **Actually, for once I own the vast majority of characters in this story. Hah, so there!! Come get me. But four aren't mine, they're someone else's – in fact they seem to belong to lots of other people. So I'm sorry I stole them. Well, almost sorry. I had a lot of fun with them. Do you think they'd let me keep Doug for my own evil uses? ;-)  
**Thanks:** Oooh, big woohoo for Emily! Thank you for reading this and correcting! It really helps when I don't proofread myself (I know, shoot me). Thank you again! And go read her fics; they're the best Doug/Carol ones I've read in ages. And another woohoo for Ryan, because he picked up on some major contingency errors that would have made me look really thick!  
**Note:**Bear with the name. All is explained near the end!

**Rolling Stone. Part One.**

Skid Westwood sat at the breakfast bar eating cereal and trying to ignore the looks from his mother, who was wiping a juice glass for what must have been the fiftieth time. Two fish in a tank on the counter joined the staring contest as Skid shovelled in another spoonful of Cheerios, concentrating fiercely on the pattern the remaining rings made in the milk. Behind him he heard footsteps on the stairs, and the door opening into the kitchen. A short silence, and then the door clicked again and he heard the footsteps retreat back up the stairs. That juice glass had lost at least three of the painted oranges that decorated it. The pattern of swirls on the bottom of the cereal bowl was almost visible through the milk. The swirls joined up and made a picture. The same swirls were on t

MOM! Will you just cut it out?

She sighed and looked at the glass, now missing four oranges. He stood up with his empty bowl and took it around behind his mom and ran some cold water over it before dumping it in the washing up rack.

Are you really sure about this?

Finally, she'd put that stupid glass down.

We've been through this a thousand times, Mom. Yes I'm sure. Three days is all, I'll be back on Thursday morning.

He grabbed for the glass to put away in the cupboard, but she snatched it away and set about drying the invisible water on it once again. He groaned under his breath and pushed past gently and went into the next room. She followed him, grasping the Landmarks of Wisconsin dishcloth.

I don't want you to get hurt is all.

I'm a good driver, I promise you I won't break any speed limits or drink five Miller's before getting behind the wheel. Besides, Rob's there and you know you love him. He won't let me do anything stupid, right? We're going to stop every four hours, we know what we're doing okay?

No, no, I mean, you know. What if you travel all that way and he doesn't want to see you?

Well, then at least I'll know. Maybe I won't give him the choice.

Oh Skid, please, no fighting.

He let out a growl of frustration and knelt down, checking over his backpack. Behind him, he heard tentative steps on the stairs again and turned around.

Hey Tim. He smiled at the man on the stairs, wearing a pair of jeans that had once been blue but were now black, and a lumberjack shirt.

Alright Skid? You going this morning?

Yeah. You off to work?

Yup. Let me know if you want me to look at the truck again before you go.

Tim smiled and gave Skid's mom and peck on the cheek before going into the kitchen.

She looked back down at Skid, who was rolling up a sleeping bag into a tight roll.

Are you all packed? Maybe the change in subject would help.

Yeah. Just this sleeping bag to be done.

Here, let me. She got down on the floor, putting down her therapeutic drying up, and leaning forward to grab the long piece of cord to tie everything up with.

Look, Skid she said a lot quieter now they were close on the floor. But before she could say anymore, he got up and ran up the stairs, muttering about getting another CD for the truck. She looked back down at the sleeping bag and wrestled it into a small parcel.

""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

Upstairs, Skid surveyed his room, running one hand through his short hair. For over two weeks he had been planning this and sure enough his mom was driving him mad. The earlier he could leave the better, for all their sakes. Outside, the old truck sat on the roadside. Tim had given it a new exhaust and filled the oil and water, and even supplied a new spare tire in case of an emergency. He'd filled it with gas himself yesterday. He was all ready to go, he just had to get through the actual process of leaving. Grabbing a random CD from the rack that stood behind the door, he left the room and went back downstairs.

""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

At the bottom of the staircase, his mom stood holding the sleeping bag with a weak smile.

All done.

Thanks. It's really

She smiled again and handed it to him.

I gotta go now. I'm picking Rob up at nine.

Oh, okay. Have you said goodbye to Barney and Bruce?

Uh no. Hey, Barn! Bruno! I'm GOING! I'LL SEE YA ON THURSDAY!

The sounds of clunking upstairs were heard and an echoey Buh bye! before there was a crash and the voices got louder.

I think they're fighting again.

I'll have to go and sort them out. Now, listen to me Skid. You be careful. I know you're a safe driver and I know you think you're ready to deal with all this. And I do trust you. But please, just don't expect too much, okay?

Okay. I'll see you on Thursday. He kissed her on the cheek, and she enveloped him into a big hug before he pulled away and picked up his backpack, looking apologetically at his watch. He opened the front door, yelling, See ya Tim! and then running down the steps to the truck. His mom stood at the front door with her dishcloth and glass, watching him. He threw his bag into the back of the truck and got in, revving the engine and pulling out with a quick gesture that could have been a wave before speeding down the road in the direction of his friend's house. She watched him until he got to the end of the street and then closed the door, polishing the glass that was now devoid of any pattern.

""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

Skidaddle Westwood was seventeen, eighteen in July. He was born in 1988 and been brought up by his mother and a series of boyfriends, only one of whom had ever been really bad to him. He had two half brothers who were nine and seven years old, fathered by a guy called Devon who had been great and was around for four years before he got shot in a botched hold up at the drugstore. He was diabetic, and was trying to get his insulin when he got shot. Skid missed him, but had never thought of him as his dad. Now his mom was with Tim, a car mechanic who was pretty cool and more like a friend to him then anything else. His brothers treated Tim like a dad, despite Skid having a long talk with both of them about not expecting too much from him. They missed Devon a lot more than he did – well, of course they would, they were his actual children.

Skid was an average student at the local high school. He liked science, hated history, and didn't mind English class, although that was more to do with Amanda McFadden, who he sat behind and had the most fantastic blond hair and a body to die for. His grades averaged B, although he'd had a couple of C's. His best area was on the sports field. He played just about every sport there was, but his starring role was as the school baseball team pitcher. He'd had dreams of being a professional player but decided he's prefer to be an engineer when he saw how much he could earn straight out of college. Besides, the physics spoke his language - a shovel is a shovel. Speaking his mind had got him in some trouble both at school and at home, there was the story that his mom liked to tell all visitors at some point about his kindergarten day trip to the zoo. He'd told his teacher that looking at all the animals was boring and that playing with them would be much better. At which point, he began to scale the fence and three attendants had to help get him down. A while after that incident, they moved away to Nebraska. Not because of the zoo, but because one day his mom said that she'd like to see some of the country. She was like that – impulsive. He quite liked that, just following feelings, but on the other hand sometimes he wished he had stayed in one place, with one set of friends, one house and one dad. Still, look at him now. This was about as impulsive as he'd been ever. Alright, so he'd done a bit of planning in advance, but really he couldn't have not planned. The whole thing was a result of a history project. He was about to finish the class with an average that was very near D, and would have done if he hadn't become so interested in the project. They had had to research their family in depth and come up with a detailed family tree, dating as far back as possible. The person who could go back the furthest was guaranteed at least a B, Mr. Ascott said, despite that not being strictly kosher. Initially, he figured he needed that B much more than anyone else in his class, so he went home that night and interrogated his mom about her family. Unfortunately, she couldn't remember much about her grandma, and she'd never even met one set of grandparents. He had just resigned himself to his fate – failing history class – when he had a sudden flash of inspiration. He knew his mom knew little or nothing about his dad, let alone his family. All she knew was that he was a doctor and he liked Jack Daniels. Go figure. But if he could get his dad's name, or at least his surname, maybe he could trace the family tree on the Internet. Or at least he could get a family tree and make it look like his own. So it came as a bit of a blow when his mom said she really couldn't remember the name. He tried to jog her memory for about half an hour until she had a brainwave. She'd remembered that shortly after she'd found out she was pregnant, she'd received a letter from the guy, who had found out when she'd been at the hospital for a pregnancy test. Fuelled with this titbit of information, they'd both ran up the staircase two at a time and into her room where she'd ferreted through shoeboxes, old jewellery caskets, boxes of clothes, and finally found it in a beautifully decorated but dusty wooden box. She rummaged through lots of letters, blushing a little when Skid picked one up from the top of the pile and noticed it was from Tim. She grabbed it back, saying it was personal and carried on digging before eventually coming up all smiles and waving a small bit of paper in her hand. Skid grabbed it and leant back against the bed, sitting on the floor. The letter was written on a piece of paper that looked a lot like the prescriptions that he got when he had bad viruses. On top it said Douglas Ross, M.D. and County General Hospital underneath that. He couldn't read some of what was written on it but it was addressed to Angel, which was his mom's name.

He sent two hundred dollars in the envelope with that.

Skid looked up. He did?

Yeah. To help with costs or something, that's what it says there. She pointed at the letter.

Can I keep this? For my project?

I don't know, Skiddo. You can have it for the project, but I'd like it back.

He got up and left the room, looking at the little piece of paper that was the only connection between him and the man who had fathered him. That night, he told his mom he was going out to play ball with some buddies, but instead he went into the town and paid twenty dollars to use the Internet for two hours at the newly opened cyber café. Not really knowing where to start, he used a search engine and plugged in the name Douglas Ross. To his despair he spent the next hour searching through thousands of websites and documents about Douglas Ross furnishings, Doug Ross Jr.'s love of Pokemon cards, Dougie Ross the cartoonist and Ross, D. who founded the St. Louis branch of Old People In Poverty. It wasn't until he had fifteen minutes left that he clicked on a link to a Portland Children's Clinic newsletter and found an announcement informing patients and their families that a Dr. Douglas Ross, M.D. had joined the practice from Chicago. 

""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

Did your mom give you hell?

Nope, told me not to live on McDonalds then called me Harry. Rob grinned.

Skid grinned back. Your mom's gotta get your name right one of these days.

Sure, I'll just have to live at home the rest of my life. You get some beers for tonight?

Yup – in my bag, under the blue sweater. Asked Tim, he got me a four pack of Bud. Couldn't get any more because they wouldn't fit.

Cool, good job. I got two Millers from the fridge, so we got a beer each for every night we're away.

Excellent. Did you bring that roadmap?

Uh huh, hang onhere it is. You know where we're stopping tonight yet?

No. I figured we just keep driving until we get someplace, about eleven.

Sounds like a plan.

They turned onto a highway, making for the Interstate.

You ever driven on the Interstate before?

Once, no. Maybe twice. I took Barney to his camp last summer.

Oh shit, yeah, I was with you! Remember, we teased him all the way because Tammy kissed him?

Heheh, yeah. Now he's got some big time crush on his teacher. She's a babe, I'm telling you. I'd kill for her to teach me some stuff, know what I mean?!

Rob laughed. Who is she? I swear I never saw her.

I don't know her name. She's new at the school. Real slim, I've seen her jogging at the park with just a tiny little shirt and tight pants onwhat I wouldn't give

Hey, is she the one with the short hair, brunette? Tall?

Yeah, that's the one.

Rob growled and they both broke up into laughter.

""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

Rob and Skid had been friends since they started high school. Rob was a basketball player, built for the sport at six foot four. He played pickup with Skid on his driveway, and although Skid wasn't a bad player, he always got thrashed. They'd hit it off when they met in homeroom and had to pair up for one of those getting to know you games. Rob had six siblings – two older sisters, three younger, and one younger brother. His mom was constantly rushing around after them all and calling them by each other's names. His sister Becka had cystic fibrosis and had a lot of hospital appointments. She wasn't expected to live for very long when she was born, but now she was five and still around. Rob sometimes had to skip school to take her to the doctor for checkups, since his dad worked all the time to earn enough money to keep the eight-piece family, and his mom had to do numerous other things for everyone else. He said he didn't mind helping out but Skid was pretty sure that there was something different about the relationship between Rob and his sister. He'd gone with them once, on a day off, and Rob didn't really talk to Becka at all, acted all detached. Skid thought Becka was great and held her hand when she got a shot. He didn't ask Rob what was going on – he was probably just having a shitty day or something. They'd dropped Becka off at home and then gone to the pool to swim and maybe get a date. They failed on that count, but soon after Rob started dating Alexis Hutton, who was a really hot freshman who also happened to be a cheerleader. Skid dated one of her friends for a few weeks but then took Lucy Brannon from his French class to the Spring Ball. Rob was the stud of his class – Skid wasn't a stud but the girls liked him because he always had something to say to them, whoever they were. They made quite a pair. The road trip though was the first time they'd be going away alone. Rob had come on holiday with Skid and his family once, when they went to the Gulf coast. Because of his huge family, he'd never really been on a proper holiday, and both of them had a fantastic time. But now he was really overjoyed at the prospect of a trip with his best friend, when they weren't accompanied by screaming brothers, sisters, and parents.

""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

I say we quit here.

Yeah, it is kinda dark out here.

Hey, pull into that field. We can park there for the night.

Are you sure?

Yeah, they're always doing it in movies.

I don't want to burst the bubble, Robbo, but not everything's the same as in movies.

Doh. Dya think? Look, just park okay? We'll be outta here by the time the farmer gets his lazy ass outta bed anyway.

Okay, okay.

They swung into the large, empty field and brought the truck to a halt. Skid, now in the passenger seat, opened his door and dropped out, before vaulting over the side of the truck into the back where the backpacks and sleeping bags were.

I didn't know driving for so long could be so tiring. Rob said, sliding the glass window at the rear of the cab backwards to talk to Skid.

Yup. Want that beer?

If you don't give it to me, I will have to terminate you. He climbed out and went round to the side of the truck. Oh fuck!

Skid leant over the side to see what was wrong. Rob stood in the darkness, looking at his feet.

Fuck man, I think this is a field of cows!

Skid started laughing. Aww you didn't tread in cow crap did you?

Ya don't say.

Rob looked up menacingly, but Skid just laughed and tipped over backwards, lying on the truck floor laughing. There were the vague sounds of grass rustling as Rob tried to wipe the stuff off his shoe, and Skid sat up again, trying to compose himself.

Here. I think you need this now. Skid threw a bottle at Rob from the rear of the truck.

Rob sighed as he took a long drink from the bottle, and climbed into the back.

Hey man, don't bring that into my truck! Skid pointed at the shoe.

Oh, I can't bring it into your truck now huh?! The truck that stinks of old McDonalds, the truck with paint coming off the doors, the truck with, he wriggled and pulled out a chunk of terracotta from beneath him, an old brick in it

Skid jumped and grabbed at Rob's foot, pulling at the shoe. Rob wrenched his leg away and got up, standing above Skid who was on the floor still. 

Muhahahahaaaa, I have you now! he cackled, and slowly poured beer onto Skid's head.

Rob grabbed him by the legs and dragged him down. Between breaths, he gasped, Don't waste the beer!

said ita waste! Rob said, and grabbed Skid and rolled him out to the very end of the truck, grappling with his friend and the catch on the door until it clicked open and Skid landed on his back in the field.

Alright, alright! You win! I give up!

Yesss! Champion again!

Throwing insults at each other, they laid out sleeping bags on the truck floor, and sat down with what was left of their beers. Rob gazed up.

It's so clear out here.

look, see that? That's Orion.

Nerd. It's cool though.

They both looked upwards in silence. Some moment's later, Rob picked up a bit of rubber on the floor and threw it out into the field.

Hey, Nerd. Do you think the sky looks the same in Portland?

probably doesn't look the same in somewhere like Australia. But it'll look the same in Portland.

Rob looked down at the floor again, taking a drink from the bottle and rubbing some dirt around.

Tell me about your dad.

Skid looked over at him, then back up at the sky.

I don't know anything.

You must know something. You couldn't have found where he was living if you didn't know anything.

I know his name – Douglas Ross. And I know he's a doctor. And I know he lives in Portland. He works at a clinic for children.

He's got money then.

I guess.

What happenedI mean, when you were borndid he leave when you were little?

He left before I was born. My mom said it was a one-night stand thing. He sent her this letterit's in my bag. It was this bit of notepaper with his name on the top and he sent $200 with it to pay for stuff.

Sounds pretty shitty.

That's all you know about him?

They fell silent again.

I thought maybe he was dead, for ages.

Rob looked at his friend, who was still gazing upwards.

You did?

Yeah, well my mum never said anything, and when Devon died I thought, maybe that's what happened to my dad. But then Mom didn't ever show me any pictures of him like she does for Bruce and Barney, so they don't feel bad or anything and so they don't forget him. She never said anything about my father, unless I asked and then she just gave me vague answers, just general stuff. I never really thought about it that much. Not till that stupid project anyway. I gotta get a C or else I'm gonna be up to my ass in it.

You'll be fine. You always do better than you think.

I hope so.

Silence reigned again before Rob said, What would you feel if you found out your dad really was dead?

Like, you said you used to think your dad was deadwhat if he was?

I don't know. Maybe it wouldn't be such a loss to me. I never knew him, I never could know him. I know what it was like when Devon died and I know I wouldn't feel the same if my real father died, but I'd be disappointed, ya know?

What was it like for you when Devon was shot?

Pretty lousy.

No, I mean, what did it feel like?

Skid looked at Rob, frowning slightly. Kinda numb I suppose. It really messed up Barney, the doctors said he didn't know how to grieve or something and my mom had to go with him on that special camp with all the other kids who had someone else die. I was more sad for Barney and Bruce than I was because Devon died. Ya know what I mean?

Rob nodded. They lost their dad and Devon wasn't my dad or anything. He was cool and I missed him a lot, but I felt real bad for the kids because it wasn't fair on them. It's okay for me not to have a dad because he didn't want me to begin with but when they had a dad who really loved them and all, and he wanted them, and then he got blasted away by some bastard who wanted some fix or whatever. It's not the same. He was getting angry, and frowned into the distance. Rob was silent, looking to one side at the floor, making patterns in the dirt still.

I'm scared about Becka dying. He whispered it, and Skid wouldn't have heard it had it not been for the sheet of absolute silence about them. He turned to look at Rob, who was not meeting his gaze, focussing completely on the pattern he was making. He looked back out into the distance again, not knowing what to say. Becka was going to die, they knew that. He looked back at Rob.

Why are you scared?

I don't know.

""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

©Triggersaurus2001

var yvnContents='http://us.toto.geo.yahoo.com/toto?s=76001089yvnR='us';yfnEA(0);geovisit();


	2. Rolling Stone - Part 2

Rolling Stone.

**Rolling Stone. Part Two.**

Handing in his project, with a family tree that was more gaps than family, felt good despite it all. That was one load off his back. But while the project was done, the niggling questions about his father remained in his mind. He'd spent far too much time and money on surfing the net trying to find out all he could about this man he'd never known, and as a result his project had become a little neglected and then rushed at the end. But he'd managed to track down the address of the clinic, and from that the address of where Dr. Douglas Ross lived. His father. And he was going to go and see him. Spring vacation was coming up, he had a week off and he would go on a trip up to Portland, maybe take Rob as well, and go and pay a visit to his long lost dad. What would he say? Would he just stand there on the doorstep and say Hi, Dad? Or Hi, I think I'm your son. Or, Remember me? You screwed my mom eighteen years ago and this is what you got. He couldn't work out if he was angry or not. He was sure he should be. The man walked out on his mom when he knew she was pregnant with his child. So he was angry. A bit. But he didn't want to start a fight. He just wanted to meet him. Pretend he'd known him. Pretend he'd been there. Perhaps they could play some ball Perhaps this guy would slam the door in his face. He had to see him. He had to know what the situation was. Would he look like him? How old was he? What if he was some four-foot, ugly-assed doctor with a criminal record? What if he didn't remember ever fathering a kid in Chicago? He would never know, unless he went to see him. And he was going to. Irrespective of who thought what.

""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

The sun rose the next morning, the air rippling as the cold of the night met the heat of the day. Skid sat behind the wheel of his truck and watched the sun come up, gripping the wheel, rubbing his palms over it, round it. In the back of the truck, Rob woke up slowly, knocking his head on the spare wheel, the sitting upright before looking behind him to see Skid. He turned back again, looking at the sky turning a light blue as he stretched and stood up. He bounced a little to get Skid's attention and raised a hand in a good morning gesture. From inside the cab, Skid smiled and turned the key to check his gas gauge. They'd need to stop for gas within the next few miles, or else he'd end up stuck at one of those SOS points on the Interstate. Rob opened the passenger door and climbed in, slamming it behind him and yawning.

How long we got to go now?

Are we nearly there yet? Skid whined, mimicking Rob.

Shut up, it's too early! How much more of the country have we got to cover?

I guess we've got about another eight hours to go, at least. More like ten?

Jeez. Where we at now? He tapped the little clock on the dash, and it blinked on, reading 5.09am. Oh maaaan. 5 in the morning? I don't believe it. I'm not sure I like this back to nature crap after all. How long you been up?

Bout an hour before you. I couldn't sleep. Ya know how it is. Big day. I can't sleep before a big game usually, let alone this kinda thing.

Well you may not be able to sleep but I sure could. How bout you drive the first four hours while I cop a bit more shut eye.

Sure. As long as you don't mind me playing this. He waved a CD in the air.

What is that? Give it hereLimp Biskit at 5am? You have to be kidding.

Yeah, I am. No I'm not. Yeah, I am. He played off Rob's reactions, enjoying himself, before settling on not playing the CD in exchange for playing Dido, which they agreed was soothing and also conducive to hot dreams for Rob. Just as long as you watch yourself in here, know what I mean?

Jesus Skidder, give me some credit.

They accelerated out of the field and were back on the Interstate within minutes. Rob slept and Skid sang along to his CD under his breath. Four hours later, he pulled into a lay-by and smacked Rob around the head. 

Hey, get up. Your turn.

Ugh. Alright already, I'm up, I'm up. Mom.

They got out of the truck and swapped sides, grinning. How about some of that Limp Bizkit CD now? I gotta stay awake, we don't want to be ploughing into any trees.

How about Queen? It's got Bohemian Rhapsody 

Hell yeah!! Hey Mr. DeeJay, put that record on', he squealed in a high-pitched Madonna impression. Skid put the CD into the player and adjusted the bass to satisfactory levels before they both launched into song. Before long, they were both head-banging their way through the chorus

nothing really matters, anyone can see. Nothing really matters, nothing really matters to meeeeeeeeeeeeee.

""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

His mom had not been overjoyed when he announced his plans for the spring break one mealtime. She'd got that worried disbelief look on her face, the one that she pulled when he thought he'd pre-warn her about his upcoming history grade, or when he had to tell her he'd pitched straight though the back window for the sixth time. It was not a good look. But he wasn't going to let it stop him this time.

You're going to see your dad?

Yeah. I got his address.

Then his mum did her goldfish impression, opening and closing her mouth while she decided what to say, and looking around at everyone else for help with the construction of a sentence. He'd looked around the room too, surreptitiously. Admittedly, he may have not chosen the best time to make his announcement – his Aunt Linda was there and one of Bruno's friends.

How did you

I got it off the Internet, I looked up his name.

There she was again, goldfishing away. He didn't mean to hurt her, he didn't want to hurt her at all. But sometimes a man had to do what a man had to do, he thought importantly.

But Skiddo

All his feelings of masculinity and importance were crushed with that one stupid nickname. 

Look Mom. No offense, really. But this is something I really want to do. I just want to meet my dad. I'm not expecting anything, like I don't expect him to invite me to live with him, or to give me money, or anything like that. I just want to meet him is all. Okay?

She was still in shock. But she didn't say anything more, just ate some more chicken and tried to make some more conversation to steer away from the subject. All in all it made for an awkward evening. That night, when he was in his room trying to do some math equations, she put her head around his door and crept in, sitting down on the bed next to him. He moved a bit, trying not to get mad that she'd just sat on the piece of paper he was working from.

What're you doing?

She smiled.

I know what you're going to say.

No you don't. I was going to say I'm okay with you going to find your Dad. I just don't want to see you come back disappointed. I don't remember much about him, so I can't tell you what to expect.

That's okay, Mom. I'm not doing this to spite you or anything, I'm not mad that you don't know much about him or whatever. I'm just doing this for me, you know?

Yeah, I know.

She leaned forward and hugged him.

Just be careful. Don't you go running off on me too.

He pulled back, concerned and shocked that she would think that, but couldn't find the words to express it. She left his room, seeming content although her smile betrayed a hint of sadness.

""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

It was a more subdued pair that turned down Lakeview Drive late in the afternoon. 

Hey man. Let me get out here. You don't want me around for this, I'll go down there to that lake and watch the ducks or something.

Skid pulled over to the kerb and smiled at Rob gratefully. Thanks. I won't be long.

No sweat, take your time.

His friend stepped out of the truck and walked down a narrow path towards the lake that was visible a short way away. Skid watched Rob go, and then accelerated slowly down the road, looking at the houses for number twelve. It wasn't until he was someway down the lane that he caught sight of a small sign that said The Rosses and he had to reverse to look closer. That was it. Number twelve, the Ross household. He cut the engine and looked at the clock – 4.32pm. Maybe he'd be out. He'd be at work. Or at the bowling alley. Or at a bar, getting rat-assed. He could do with a beer himself. But this probably wasn't the time. Hi Dad, I'm your alcy son. 

Skid got out of the truck, taking the keys with him. He stood by it, looking at the house, the green grass, the lake now closer by, the edge of a small pier if he strained his neck. The house was big – about the same size as two of his own house. There were trees everywhere, and someone had been busy planting flowers in pots on the porch that ran around the house. Maybe he was a gardener type. He saw a drape move in one of the windows and jumped a little. He probably looked like some sort of stalker, standing staring at the house. Now or never. He took a couple of steps forward, turned back to the truck, then turned back again and walked down the path to the porch. Going up the steps, he saw a small boat docked at the pier, a couple of deckchairs on the porch itself, a pail, and a lawn mower on the lawn in front of the pier. Looking back at where he stood he reached for the doorbell and after a moment when his finger didn't seem to want to go any further, he rang it.

Almost instantly he panicked. What was he going to say? He hadn't thought about this at all, just stupid things that made no sense. It was too late to run now, he could hear footsteps and shouting, oh god he'd interrupted something, what if the guy hit him, maybe he could run, where did he put the keys for the truck, what if Rob wasn't waiting

Hi. Can I help?

The woman had a friendly smile. She also had a small child attached to one leg that was gazing up at him and waving a small shovel that matched that pail he'd seen outside. Oh my God, he has other children.

I, uh. He took a breath to try and collect his thoughts and get his mouth to operate properly. Does Dr. Ross live here?

Yes, do you want me to get him? Honey, get off me please. She swiped at the girl softly, who giggled, still looking at Skid.

Uh, yeah, please.

It's not an emergency is it?

Oh, no, sorry, no it's notif it's a bad ti But she had already gone, shouting through to the rear of the house. She returned quickly, with a child's chair in one hand. Did you want to come in?

Uh, I, uhm. Before he could get any further, he saw a figure come out from behind the wall of the living room, which had been obscuring his view of the whole house. He was tall with a built frame, holding a glass in one hand and sipping from it. He had short hair, and a jaw line that Skid saw every morning in the mirror. He was wearing a shirt over a white tee, and black jeans with a small hole in one knee. His head ticked to one side, looking around the corner even after he'd come past it, and put the glass down on the counter to walk to the door. He was saying somethingoh, he was saying something.

I'm Dr. Ross, was there something I could do?

I. Uh. This is, well, um. Hi. This is difficult, uh. My name's Skid. Uhm. My mom. Her name is Angel, actually, Angelina, but everyone calls her Angel and her surname is Westwood, uhm. And I'm her son, and uh

Dr. Ross stepped closer to him, still looking at him from that peculiar angle. This time he spoke softer, Angel Westwood? From Chicago?

well, Nebraska now. You remember?

This guy, the doctor, had taken a step back and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before looking at the woman over one shoulder and sending some sort of invisible message so that she nodded and picked up the infant, leaving the room and going out towards the far end of the house.

Come in, here, take a seat. Yeah, I remember Angel. I think I know where you fit into this too, uhm.

Yeah, II'm not here to ask for anything, or expect anything, or to get money or anything bad at all, it's just that well I was doing this project, and it was about doing a family tree and mom said she didn't know much about you because it was a one night stand and that she had this letter, it had your name on the top and I never knew your name before so I thought I'd find out where you were and stuff about you and I read you were a doctor and you lived here

Okay. Slow down. I'm not going to shout at you or anything, okay? Just give me a few moments to take this inSkid? Did you say that was your name?

Yeah. Mom has a goofy sense of humour, she said when I was born she went into labour in Wal-Mart and they had to call a cab and the cab driver said Holy shit, we'd better skidaddle then! when he saw her, and she thought that word was funnyand it ended up on my birth certificate.

Despite the shock of it all, he chuckled. He. His father. Skid was so relieved that he wasn't angry. He knew he was babbling, just talking a load of crap but he was beyond caring. He hadn't been thrown out, or yelled at, or hit.

Wow, this is really. Um. Out of the blue. I don't know where to start. I'm Doug, by the way, he reached out a hand to shake, which Skid accepted. You're probably really angry, he looked up from his hands and glanced at Skid, smiling a little, I don't really know what to say. I can't really make up for what I did

I'm not mad. Well. I am a little I suppose. But I'm not really angry or anything. Mom said that neither of you really expected anything fromwhat you did.

There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

I'm sorry to come barging in on your life. I don't know how you feel, but I'd be real messed up over it probably. I'm not saying you're messed up. I mean.

That's okay. How about you tell me about you. You must be

Oh. So you're in high school, right?

He felt a little dumbstruck now as everything sank in. He was sitting here, in this house, talking to his dad. His dad. That was taking a while to really sink in. This big house, in Portland. His dad was a doctor. He had a daughter, a little girl with dark hair. And a girlfriend, or a wife maybe. And a lake in his back yard.

He woke up to the tail end of the question but was distracted by the sudden thundering of feet on stairs and the small girl threw herself at the couch, next to his fatherand her father too. My god. He was looking at his sister. He had a sister. He stared at her, and she stared back at him before crawling along the couch to Dr. Rosswhat should he call him? Oh no, had he scared the girl? She was all balled up next to her dad, and didn't want to meet Skid's eye at all now. He was looking down at her, grinning and pulling her up to sit on his lap. He looked at Skid.

Skid, this is Tess. She's a little shy. The other one, you saw her before with Carol, at the door, she's called Kate. They're four, right Tess?

The girl nodded. She was tiny, he thought. Hi, Tess. She still wouldn't look at him. He didn't mind. She was four, she could be forgiven. How was she to know who he was anyway?

Tess, why don't you go and find your mom and Kate? They're in the den.

She nodded and got up, scooting around the table that stood in the middle of the living room, and running off in the direction that the others had disappeared to.

She's cute.

She's a trouble maker. Doug grinned.

Yeah, II have two brothers and they're even worse.

How old are they?

Seven and nine. They're really my half brothers. Their father died.

Oh. I'm sorry.

That's okay.

The heavy silence took a hold of the room and air around them again, until Doug shifted in his seat, gazing to his left quickly before looking directly at Skid.

Look, Skid. This is difficult, and there is no way we're going to get to know each other in a couple of hours sitting here. It's not going to be something that can be resolved that quickly.

No, that's okay, really I know. I'm sorry, you want me to go.

No, I don't want you to go, not just yet. I want to know more about you, but I'm feeling a little out of my depth here. I mean he looked out of the window to the right, before looking back at Skid, his eyes smiling, 18 years is a long time.

Skid felt bad. He didn't know why, but he looked at his hands, all crumpled up on his lap, and nodded.

I'm sorry. I don't know what else to do.

He looked up at the man who had fathered him. He was honest, and it kinda hurt, but it was better than them sitting around pretending to know each other. Doug looked straight back at him, grinning lopsidedly so try and take out some of the sting of what he was saying, but with an unreadable expression in his eyes. He looked out of the window again.

How about I give you the tour?

They stood up, and moved around the house, stopping in each room, stopping by each photograph, and ending up outside by the jetty in silence, but now a more comfortable silence. Skid gazed over the water. It was an amazing place to live. The house was big, and the kids had their own room each, plus there was a study. There were photographs of the twins everywhere, and some photos of the woman – Carol's – family. There was just the one shot of Doug's mother, sitting on a shelf with lots of others, not really noticeable. He hadn't wanted to ask about Doug's parents, or why there were so few pictures of them. Some people were like that, he supposed. The lake was really something, he could imagine taking that boat out and sailing round the whole place, even thought he'd never sailed anywhere in his life. It was all so peaceful. But he missed his mom, somewhere deep in him. If only she'd stayed with Dougbut he knew he couldn't continue that thought. Doug was his father. He looked a bit like him. He wasn't as tall, but he was that same build. He wished he had the same sun tanned look. And he was a doctor, so he must be real clever. He wouldn't want to know about Skid's grades.

I'm the pitcher for our high school baseball team.

Doug looked at him.

you asked what sports I liked

Doug nodded. Pitcher, huh? I could never pitch. They said my throwing arm was too weak. Could slug a ball right out of the universe though. He grinned, and Skid grinned back.

Doug picked up a stone from the edge of the water. Show me what you can do. He gestured towards the lake. Skid was confused for a moment, and then figured it out. Taking a step back, he threw the stone out over the water, watching it fly out into the distance, bursting through the air and sliding across the lake's surface as the trajectory dipped down before finally breaking the surface and falling to a resting place somewhere in the depths. Maybe it had further to go, inclines to roll down, underwater plants to block its path. But where it stopped, it would stay. No longer washed up on the sides, back where it belonged.

""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""  
""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

_***Quick (ish) Author's Note***__ I know this seems like a very abrupt and strange place to end. It seemed right to me to end it there though because I wasn't sure where I wanted to go with this. I really need to know from anyone who read this if you think I should carry on with the idea as a longer series, or if I should just leave it like this, a two-parter. Cheers._

©Triggersaurus2001

var yvnContents='http://us.toto.geo.yahoo.com/toto?s=76001089geovisit();


End file.
